We toasted ourselves for spending a full week in lives not our own. Clean and all dolled up we presented ourselves to the city of Cholula once again. We ordered beers on the zocalo (the town square) and congratulated one another on being fabulous human beings. After a beer and change (Cecilia never finishes hers and I always oblige to help a sister out), I was feeling mischievous. I devised a plan to return to the TelCel store and hand my number to the good-looking guy behind the counter who'd been no help whatsoever in my complaints about my phone robbing me of my minutes. In the meantime, we were starting to get hungry and crave the veggies and vitamins that had been lacking in our rice and bread diets last week. We called Olivier to check on the broccoli feast he's promised us. Not only had he done absolutely nothing, he had no intention of going out to get food or to get a phone card to have minutes to inform us that we were on our own for dinner at 9 at night. k$%das0ie9@s*1!! While Cecilia was ready to lay into him, I was dripping with sincerity and Corona, "Olivier, it would be my pleasure to go back and get you a TelCel card."
We left the note on the counter and got half-way down the block before he caught up with us, "hey! you forgot your paper!" ::Sigh:: "Noooo, (dipshit) it's for you!!!".... "oooh". The four or five text exchange that ensued pertained solely to how gorgeous his friend thought Cecilia was. Ugh. I should have given up on trying to be smooth so long ago. Anyway, we made up for the whole affair by going to Puebla the next day and buying bus tickets to the beach. We ate at a veggie restaurant called Zanahoria (The Carrot) - no comparison to Asheville, but still a satisfactory soy burger. Then we went to the artisan fair where I met a goofy pirate from Chihuahua who gave me a hair wrap. He had one good eye to work with and another good eye hidden behind a patch.
We almost decided not to go on the date we'd made with TelCel boy and his friend. These guys seemed like total goobers. But good thing we didn't heed our apprehensions. TelCel boy, heretofore to be referred to as Beto, introduced us to his "friend," who turned out to be the owner of the adjacent bar called Enamorada. We ordered a glass of red wine, which eventually became somewhere between 4-6. The boss, Enrique, suggested Cecilia order apple turnover, which was incredible. The dessert was followed by peanuts, then by cherries, olives, a cheese platter...at one point Beto flicked his wrist and a vendor brought us each a rose (3 weeks later mine is still alive and beautiful. hmm). I tried to pay but they actually laughed at me: Please! 1) This is Mexico. 2) I am the owner. Oh, right. I've never been treated like royalty like that. And turns out Beto's kind of a catch...
On the flip side, Sunday we went out with Cecilia's Cuban boy, Roberto. Well, we started off with hangover waffles at the restaurant where he works, then I took a walk with Beto and had dinner with the Lito family (the family that owns the pizzeria). Theeennn we went out with sketchy Cuban man and his homeboy, Jose Carlos (the doorman if you recall). JC had never shown much interest in me - told me he had no cell phone when I'd heard one beeping, never written when I gave him my email, blew me off on our first double. I had seriously low expectations (well, none really) and to be perfectly honest, despite the fact that he's incredibly gorgeous I was a little wigged out by him in general. But anything could be better than the oil well digger with whom I'd dined on our first double and Ceci didn't want to fly solo. So when Home Slice cycled up to the corner store where I'd escaped the makeout session I'd been chaperoning in search of chocolate or anything else in which I could possibly invest my attention, I was surprised that A) he tried to pay and B) tried to kiss me. We walked back, grabbed a table and talked about karate (which his dad is teaching him) and his band and his family. I was in the middle of asking more about his family (please note here that I have not once mentioned any questions he's asked me, which is zilch), when he leaned in and kissed me again, like, for real. hmmm. So we finished our beers and he says, "So now what? Hotel?" you American slut, you...no, the last part I improvised - he was at least polite enough to keep that part to himself. Ceci and I took a bathroom time-out to do a half-time report: status of the players, penalties, accolades, injuries, etc. Neither of us were very keen on our predicament, but she was more invested than I was, so we continued vacillating: at the top of the stairs: I don't like this, let's go. At the bottom: maybe another half an hour. When we met them at the door and saw them salsa dancing in the park: ok, I think I'm gonna stick around. Every time my response was the same: ok, whatever you're comfortable with. JC and I took a walk for a bit and let the other two figure out what they wanted for themselves. Once we were seated at the base of the pyramid, he started to actually talk. He talked about the places he'd traveled and the colors of the people and the rain in the jungle. Then he started talking about the Mayan calendar. I told him what I'd learned from Gregg Braden and he explained that everyone has their own potential built into their molecules. We're going to have to change the way we see one another and our potential. And when I asked him what his potential was, he said "I want to be a mirror of people's good attributes." I stopped. It was as if his kiss had sucked the words right out of my own mouth. I tried to explain that but I didn't have the words - he'd taken them. And I grinned, "And your role?" He said, "Soy artista. Y seductor." I tried not to, but I totally cracked up. Hope he's gonna go home and make a painting or something because he's not getting any tonight. Maybe you think I'm being too rigid here, but up til somewhere around 2am, this guy was a total skeeze ball. He asked for my number as he pulled out his non-existent phone. Half an hour later when I climbed down from my high and into bed I got a text message: " And about this night, I will write a song."
I am writing about this ridiculous weekend of imbalanced men - one who is too shy for a goodnight kiss and the other who wanted to take me to a hotel before I could see the bottom of my beer bottle - from a coffee shop at the beach. I am detached and rebalanced. As an update, Beto and I saw each other almost daily before I left for the beach, and have continued upon my return. Jose Carlos texted me "how are you" a couple of times and we tried to meet up the Friday before I left for the beach but it fell through. Texted him as he asked when I got back, but without response. Probably better - it's a good story and we contributed something to one another, but only in that moment, which has since passed. Now, on to the beach...
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